


Acqua Alta

by LightGreySea



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Multi, do not copy to another site
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-09-20 04:43:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17015964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightGreySea/pseuds/LightGreySea
Summary: At the dawn of the XVIth Century, Venice is a rich and growing city.There, the fallen house of Durin hope to start anew, but how could they, with no allies or friends?Luckily, Gandalf always seems to know the perfect person - or hobbit.





	1. Prologue

 

### Prologue

The smell of the sea is everywhere.

By now, he muses, it will have soaked through their books and their tapestries alike; _salsedine_ after all does not care for precious fabrics or ancient khuzdul textes. He wishes that they had the time for storing their treasures better, but as soon as the tide retreated, leaving the streets wet and slippery, they had very little time before the waters rise again and flood the city.

Balin had his doubts when Thorin first mentioned the Republic of Venice as a possible new home for their family; they are dwarves, made from stones and bounded to the earth. How could they find a home in a city made of water and light, where buildings sprouts from the canals like lilies in a pond? And yet, now he is starting to see why Thorin choose it.

From their palace he can see in the East a wide canal, and past that the arsenale, where the best ships of the Republic are made. His brother Dwalin has a talent with axes, and Balin is quite sure that he will find his place among the woodcarvers. They are in the middle of a labyrinth of houses, canals and alleys saturated with people with the most varied origins, always going somewhere or doing something.

During their journey they met more than one caravan of merchants; he remembers a dark skinned woman from Harad wrapped in a cloak of crimson silk and amber beads, bright as embers, telling him of the richness of the city, and all the good opportunities to be found there.

When they arrived in Venice Balin was far too tired for noticing its beauty, but now, from the arched windows of his study, he can see it in the slabs of marbles that ornate the façade of the richest buildings, in the carved prows of the boats that pass slowly in the small canal nearby their house.

_The haradrim had a point_ , he muses, _a city where you can create a new name for yourself, and maybe make a fortune in the process, is a good place to start anew._

Especially for the disgraced house of Durin.


	2. Chapter I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gandalf has some ideas of what -or whom- could help the Durins settle in the local society.

 

### Chapter I

 «Are you sure about him?»

Thorin struggled to keep up the pace of Gandalf’s long strides, he moves swiftly and sure through the maze that venetians dare to call streets. The dwarf thought with nostalgia at the geometric map of Erebor, the only place where his – otherwise very poor – orientation sense never failed him. Gandalf didn’t answered, or stopped, but only sent him a knowing look over his shoulder.

Their little jog through the city luckily didn’t last long; after turning the umpteenth corner Gandalf stopped in front of a well-kept building. The facade was simple compared to others, more heavily decorated, that he saw in the city; no marbles or mosaics but a fresco depicting an oak tree with bright leaves and thick roots that curled around the round green door.  
To Thorin surprise, Gandalf didn’t knock but raised his staff, tracing a shining blue rune on the polished wood; the door opened and they walked inside.

«Does your old friend knows about this little trick of yours?»

Gandalf smiled serenely. «Oh, he wouldn’t mind.»

Thorin opened his mouth to object, but the sight of the courtyard makes him stops abruptly.

They are surrounded by beds of herbs and flowers, neatly arranged in rows. He is far from being an expert, and yet he recognizes medical herbs and spices. Between the flowerbeds, slender trees – peaches? pears? – with bright green buds on their otherwise barren branches. The dwarf walked to the center of the courtyard, where a well of solid grey stones is covered with a lid of dark wood; an artisan carved a sundial on it.

_Whoever Gandalf friend is_ , he thinks, _he clearly has an eye for quality.  
_

Usually Thorin felt exposed and vulnerable in a new surrounding, and yet in this unknown home he is at ease; he senses no threat lurking between the shadows of the portico that runs all around the courtyard. He shades his eyes from the light, inspecting the row of windows and the balcony at the second floor, but he sees no one.

«Do not worry, Thorin. Our host will arrive shortly.»

As if summoned, from the arched entrance emerges a short man, walking fast towards them.

«Gandalf! I was not expecting you today.»

Now that he is closer, Thorin can see him better; Gandalf’s friend is a halfling, a hobbit. A hobbit that must have dressed in a hurry, he notices, as his nimble hands buttons up a waistcoat of blue velvet. The cold sun of January shines lightly on the hobbit honey curls; _they look like pale gold_ , his treacherous mind supplies, but his attention already drifted to the hobbit’s eyes, green and bright.

«A happy incident! I was walking nearby with Thorin and I thought about paying a visit to an old friend.»

Gandalf smiles at him, and he understand that this his cue. He walks forward, bending his head slightly.

«Thorin Oakenshield, at your service.»

«Bilbo Baggins, at yours.»

Gandalf smiles at they introduction, looking perfectly satisfied with himself. He makes a great show of studying the sundial first, and then the sky.

«Now that you two have met, I think it’s time for me to pay Radagast a visit too.»

Master Baggins looked startled, but recovered quickly.

«Oh, I see! Please return for a cup of tea, always at four!»

Gandalf waves his staff and hurries away, leaving them alone. For an interminable moment they stay silent; while Thorin desperately searches for the right thing to say, Bilbo lightly touches his elbow.

«Please, may I offer you something to drink?»

Thorin heartily accepts.

 * * *

Bilbo leads him to what he presumes is his study; the curtains are open and the light is free to flow into the room. Nearby the windows, a wide table stands, surrounded with many chairs of different styles and sizes.

_It’s really considerate of you, not everybody has the same height,_ he wishes to say, but then the hobbit bends over a chest and starts to rummage through it, mumbling something under his breath. He suddenly has a knot in his throat. He focuses on the libraries, one of each side of the room, and tries to put his thoughts in order. _It is only natural that I find the hobbit puzzling, after all they rarely came to Erebor._

Bilbo returns from his quest proudly presenting two glasses and a closed bottle.

«Red wine from the Shire and glasses from Boemia, but I think that I could find some ale too.»

«Wine would do, thank you.»

Red wine is his favourite, and his host beams at his preference; with an expert flick of his wrist he opens the bottle and pours the drink. It has a fresh, light taste that reminds him of berries; Thorin is used to more complex flavors, and yet he finds himself drinking more of it.

«I am glad that you like it! But please, tell me more about you. Gandalf mentioned your situation in a letter, but he always manages to be incredibly cryptic.» Bilbo smiles a little, almost apologizing on Gandalf behalf.

The dwarf set down the glass and clears his throat.

«I arrived in Venice a month ago along with my brother and sister, and our cousins. We used to live and trade within the Kingdom of Erebor, but when the Mountain fell we decided to try our fortune elsewhere. We spent many years in Anversa, but with little luck. Gandalf then mentioned an old friend that could help us settle and have a warmer welcome among the merchants of Venice.»

Bilbo’s face is somber while he tells his story.

«I am very sorry, losing your home must have been terrible.»

Thorin for a moment wants to feel annoyed; what does a hobbit, a creature used to comforts, knows about hardship? Yet Bilbo seems sincere enough. _Most people regret losing the riches within the Mountain, but he spoke of home._ Thorin cannot help to feel something unnamed and new.

For a moment they are both silent, but then Bilbo fetches a piece of parchment and a quill.

«I am sure that we will find a way to ease your debut in the local society.» he says while scribbling something. «I mostly export wine and grain from the Shire, plus some dabbling in the publishing business. What is your trade?»

«I have some connections in the Iron Hills, my plan was to export iron and hides. I first thought of selling our crafts, but Gandalf did not agree. »

Bilbo nods «Venetians are rather jealous of their products; the isles of Murano and Burano would probably complain about the competition. But iron is never enough, your plan is a good one.»

He stops writing and slides the parchment towards him, almost touching his hand.

«The best way to make some acquaintances is to host a dinner party, nobody can refuse food and cheer, or at least, I can not. I wrote the names of the most welcoming merchants, be sure to invite them.»

Thorin carefully folds the parchment and place it in his coat’s pocket.

«Thank you, I hope you will be able to attend too.»

Bilbo stares for a moment and then smiles, eyes wrinkling at the corners.

«I would love that.»

 * * *

«So, is he handsome?»

Dis places her hands on her stomach and reclines on her chair, clearly enjoying her brother discomfort.

«Well, I am sure that you have heard of hobbits before; curly hair, barefoot, pointy ears...»

Dis rolls her eyes at his poor description.

«And I am sure that you could be a little more eloquent than that.»

«He has green eyes and blond hair, is your curiosity satisfied?»

Thorin knows his sister; he must appear totally unaffected or she may start to plot something for the fun of it.

«Hardly! But at least I’ll meet this mysterious Mister Baggins at the feast, isn’t it?»

Dis raises from her chair and with a well practiced gesture she takes his arm and leads him to the comfortable armchairs near the fireplace; over a low table a jug of elder juice and an assortment of hard cheeses and jams wait for them.  
Dis makes him sit and then smiles mischievously, leaning forward.

«Now tell me all the juicy details!»

Thorin just sights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Yes, magic exists in this universe too :D  
> 2\. This story is set before the Quest, so all the characters are younger, even if not that much (around five to ten years).


	3. Chapter II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bilbo Baggins is forced to be sociable, but in the end he doesn't really mind it - especially if this mean having a new friend.

 

### Chapter II

«Please, come!»

Bilbo holds the door open for the dwarf; in the past weeks Dwalin has become somewhat of a regular, and yet he still moves with extreme caution through the shop. If it’s an old habit – he mentioned being trained as a soldier – or concern about breaking something, he cannot tell.

Nothing is made of glass though, but of sturdy pine wood. The heart of the shop is in its back, where the printing machines are, but Bilbo tried to make the front pleasant for potential commissioner and buyers; the boats always make quite an impression. They hold books inside, heavy illustrated tomes at the prow and stern and lighter _tascabili_ in the middle.

«It’s just a trick to avoid the books being damaged by the high tides», he explained to the dwarf the first time they met, «if the water rises, the boats will float, protecting the books inside them.»

Bilbo returns to his counter and pushes a plate of honey biscuits towards the dwarf; the first time Dwalin nicked a few of them without asking, and while he felt annoyed the sight of a burly and heavily tattooed dwarf nibbling on biscuits was rather amusing.

«Help yourself, Nori will be here in a moment.»

«Do not worry, I don’t plan on stealing your food this time.» Dwalin grins, which, if you don’t know him, could be pretty terrifying in Bilbo’s opinion, «Save them for Thorin, he will probably come to invite you to the feast, officially. Last time I checked he was practicing some kind of speech.»

Bilbo is surprised, and slightly flattered, by the attention. He smoothers his waistcoat, hoping that it isn’t stained with ink.

«Then he is most kind. I was afraid that I made a poor first impression, he seemed...wary. Although», he quickly adds, «I am sure he has his good reasons.»

Dwalin nods and pats his shoulder gently. «Do not fret, lad, you did well», he stops and clears his throat, «I also should thank you. You asked, nor tell, nothing about me and Nori.»

«Oh, I had my share of nosey relatives in the Shire! Your relationship are your business alone.» He esitates. «About Thorin...»

Behind Bilbo a door opens; from the threshold one of the printers workers, a girl with red hair braided in a bun, peeks at them.

«Nori says you can’t come; they are quite indecent, with ink everywhere. They are brushing and braiding their hair again.»

Dwalin groans, «For Mahal’s sake, that will take hours!»

He marches after the girl, closing the door behind him.

Bilbo decides that it’s better to leave them to their affairs. He sits down at the counter and start to browse thought the list of the last commissions; a translation in Latin of the tale of Beren and Luthien, a new edition of the Westron translation of Petrarca’s Canzoniere, an illustrated racy novel…  
He doesn’t go further than a few pages though, since his mind can’t seem to stop mulling over Dwalin’s words.  
Thorin has been an unexpected guest, but not unwelcome; he is not the first to ask for his help, and yet the dwarf made an impression.

 _He is determined to succeed_ , Bilbo muses, _but also cautious and suspicious, as if he is not used to receive help from others. I am an outsider after all._

A part of him wishes to forget about the whole business and find an excuse to avoid the feast; he doubt his absence would be noted. He already has a reputation of not being overly sociable, so it would hardly be a surprise to the other merchants invited.  
And yet he can not. Something about the dwarf captured his curiosity, there was no denying it, and now Bilbo ached to know more.

 _I want to prove myself to him._

The realization stricken him, and that truly was the point of no return.

Bilbo then started searching for a proper gift to send to Thorin’s family. His first though goes to his garden of herbs; the young woman tending to it, a Teleri she-elf, told him that the laurel and the rosemary were growing very well. But will they be enough? Maybe a fine cut of meat, like wild boar, would be more proper? But what if the dwarves of Erebor have some dietary restriction? He would never serve a jewish guest a plate of shrimps, no matter how costly they are.

_It would be so embarrassing!_

He puts his head in his hands, groaning. He doesn’t have the time to wallow in his misery, the chiming bells at the door announce a visitor. Bilbo immediately stands up, smiling pleasantly at the potential client.

«Bilbo Baggins, at your service»

He is a dwarf – another! – and somewhat reminiscent of Thorin, although his hair are a lighter shade of brown, without a hint of silver in them. His beard is also longer, braided in three sections. Bilbo also notices with some pleasure that the dwarf is not much higher than him, a point in his favor.  
The dwarf does an exaggerated bow, his turquoise hood almost sweeping the floor.

«Frerin, at your service! I’ve been told by my brother that you will be our guide in the Venetian society.»

Bilbo clasp his hands behind his back; now he remember something about a brother and a sister.

«You are overestimating me. I didn’t do much, you should probably thanks Gandalf instead.»

Frerin shakes his head. «Sharing your contacts like that? No, not many people would have done the same, especially with a family of nameless newcomers.»

Bilbo merely nods. There are things that he wished to say, but from Dwalin’s comment he expected to speak with Thorin, not with his brother – although he seems friendly enough.

«Well, I hope that our humble food will be a proper reward. You will come tomorrow evening, don’t you? With some luck my brother will play his harp.» Frerin suddenly beams, clearly inspired. «Do you have any sordid novel of dubious taste? Dis loves to read them with her wife and laugh about the plot.»

Plot is a strong word in Bilbo’s opinion, but he assured Frerin that yes, they do sell that kind of books too. They promote 'friendship' between races after all, in their own way. So, after a brief bargaining, Frerin became the proud owner of the novel _Hot as an anvil and twice as hard_.

Before leaving the shop, the dwarf turned.

«Thorin planned to visit you first, but I beat him on it. I was curious of meeting the famed Master Baggins.»

«Oh, well, nice to meet you?»

Bilbo doesn’t really know what to make of Frerin’s comments, especially the ‘famed’ part, but at least now he knows what gifts to bring.

* * *

Bilbo rocked on his feet, neatly brushed for the occasion.

A dwarf named Bofur accompanied him to Thorin’s house, which wasn’t that far away from his own, while chatting almost endlessly. Bofur's stories about his family, who all worked in the palace, were quite funny, and they helped to settle his nerves. But then the dwarf left Bilbo to his own devices in the courtyard, without any instructions.  
He passed the time studying the architecture, but the palace – although bigger – is not much different from his own; a main body with two smaller wings and a courtyard. Bilbo notices how the flowerbeds are still empty; he is glad that he decided to send bunches of herbs as a gift.  
He dares walking in the entrance hall, warmly lit with lanterns of fine glass.

«There you are!»

A dark haired dwarrowdam marches towards him, and Bilbo is suddenly swept in a rather tight embrace that leaves him gasping for air. She releases him, and now that Bilbo can properly see her face he notices the resemblance; her features are softer and her beard is fuller, braided like Frerin’s, but the strong nose and the thick eyebrows are rather unmistakable.

«You must be Thorin’s sister, nice to meet you.»

She laughed, dark eyes lit with amusement. « _Bravo!_ I am afraid that I inherited my brother’s beak of a nose, isn’t it? I am Dis, Master Baggins, and there is my wife, Inga.»

Another dwarrowdam came forth; both her and Dis chose Venetian gowns, with ample sleeves of silk and embroidered bodices, although the geometric-cut jewelry is clearly dwarfish, like the square hairpin that keeps her hair, long and golden, in place.

«I finally meet the hobbit. Thank you for your gift, fresh herbs are rather difficult to find in winter.»

Bilbo aches to know why these people expect so much of him, but speaking of food seems like a safer topic of conversation.  
_Well, let’s see how this dinner goes._

* * *

The dinner goes remarkably well. Bilbo wrote ten names, and all but one came.

 _Radagas rarely leaves his animals, but it was worth a try_ , he muses while serving himself a portion of buttered mushrooms covered with breadcrumbs and parsley. The food is excellent and he wishes he could trade some recipes with the cook, Bofur’s brother. All the guests looks contented enough; Dis’s sons make sure that no one has an empty plate or glass, while the other members of the family chat with the satisfied and slightly tipsy merchants.

«May I have the quail eggs?»

Bilbo rouse from his thoughts and pass the delicate plate to Thorin.  
He doesn’t know who to blame, although the winks from Frerin could be a hint, but he is seated at Thorin’s left side, which makes his conversation with Zahra, a half-orc silk merchant from Instambul, a little difficult. Bilbo really tries to give his undivided attention to her detailed account of how she got her last tattoo, an impressive floral motif that covers her whole left arm, but with the corner of his eyes he can always see Thorin. The warm light from the lamps smoothers the hard lines of his face and makes the silver streaks in his hair even more prominent; he finds the sight rather striking.

«So, do you think I have any chance with some pretty Shire girl?» asks Zahra, flexing her biceps.

«How…?»

Thankfully Dwalin comes to his rescue, showing proudly his latest tattoo on the knuckles. Zahra squeaks happily and soon enough she forget about Bilbo.  
He sinks in his chair, hoping that no one noticed his inattention. Since he is very lucky, Thorin is looking straight at him.

«I am afraid that I’m not used to partying anymore. I should host more feasts too. » Bilbo is aware that it is an incredibly poor excuse, but it is still better than the truth: _Oh yes, I was being distracted by your face, could you be less unfairly handsome?_ _Thank you very much!_

But if Thorin is judging him, he doesn’t show it.

«Do not worry, the hour is late for me too. But I believe that soon our guests will be ready to retire.»

Bilbo didn’t expected to be reassure, but he is very glad of it nevertheless.

«Oh, I usually stay up pretty late! But one thing is to read or write while drinking tea, another is to be sociable and respectable.»

«Do you find it such a burden, being respectable?»

Thorin is smiling lightly, and Bilbo discovers that he doesn’t mind being teased.

«Well, if we asked my relatives in the Shire, then I stopped being respectable a long time ago. I pretended to go on adventures since I was a faunt, but when I left for good everybody was rather shocked.»

Thorin nods, serious again «My childhood was rather...insular too, although back then I didn’t realize it. I applied very hard in my studies.»

«Then Dis and Frerin arrived and you never had peace again?» ventures Bilbo; it’s a rather poor attempt to make the dwarf smile again, but it works.

«Yes, precisely! And then my nephews too decided to join their mother in her mischiefs, not that I mind it.»

After they broke the initial awkwardness, Bilbo finds that conversing with Thorin is not difficult at all. He is a receptive listener, offering little quips while Bilbo told silly stories about the Shire.  
However, the moment ends; Dis smiles at them and bends to whispers something in Thorin’s ear. The dwarf raises, clearing his throat.

«I must thank you all for being so kind to join us for this humble feast...»

Thorin spoke for a good while, but at the end of the speech everybody politely clapped. Long or not, it was a rather epic speech in Bilbo’s opinion, and very clever too, since it was full of references to the ‘estimeed community of merchants’ and to the ‘natural industriousness of dwarves’.

Bilbo prepares to leave, so he is quite surprised – and a little startled – when he feels a heavy hand on his elbow. Thorin had don a wool grey coat, and holds Bilbo’s green one.

«I could escort you home, if you wish so.»

* * *

They walk in silence for a time; Bilbo has the impression that Thorin wants to say something, and since his house is not that far he tries to initiate some kind of conversation.

«I’m glad that my little list turned out to be useful.»

«More than than. I got an invite to give another speech at the Councils of Merchants, next month. I will properly present myself, I could even find a business partner if I’m lucky.»

«Excellent news! I am sure it will be a success!»

Thorin suddenly stops, his brows furrowed.

«Dis and Frerin both think that you don’t want anything in return for your favour-»

«And they are right.» Bilbo swears he can hear his father reproaching him for interrupting, but he wishes to erase any doubt or ambiguity between him and Thorin. «Is it so hard to believe that I just wanted to help you?»

Thorin stays silent for a moment, but then the dwarf surges forward, enveloping Bilbo’s smaller hands in his, warm despite the cold winter night.

«I apologize if I offended you. I hope that we could still part in friendship?»

«Of course. I wouldn’t mind being friends, not at all!» Bilbo gasps, and – rather unwillingly – let go of Thorin’s hands.  
He pulls out a slender book from his cloak’s pocket and gently places it in the dwarf hand.

«I almost forgot! I wanted to thank you for the lovely dinner; consider it a token of friendship?»

Thorin carefully takes the gift; bathed in the moonlight, his smile looks radiant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Bilbo's shop is based on the real-life library Acqua Alta, in Venice.  
> 2\. About Venetian publishing history: yes, there was a flourishing market of smut novels (among others), you're welcome :P  
> 3\. For visual reference, I draw inspiration from Palazzo Grimani for both Thorin and Bilbo's houses (https://www.tripadvisor.it/LocationPhotoDirectLink-g187870-d1946537-i63339961-Museo_di_Palazzo_Grimani-Venice_Veneto.html)  
> 5\. Dis has a wife and biological sons? Nori use 'they' pronouns? Queer people in an historical setting? YES!  
> 4\. About the mention of jewish merchants: If in this universe homophobia doesn't exists, you can bet that antisemitism doesn't exists either.


	4. Chapter III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thorin discovers how difficult is to escape from the past. Luckily, somebody still trust in him.
> 
> TW: Minor violence at the end of the chapter.

### Chapter III

Thorin ran his hand on the book’s spine, feeling the soft leather.

After the feast, soon enough a good portion of the merchant community discovered how much the Oakenshields were good hosts, and since then their house has been filled with many visitors eager to present themselves.

_I didn’t know we had so many neighbours – neighbour that probably wish to get an invite to dinner._

Thorin is not a fool, he knows that many of these self-proclaimed friends will disappear like snow under the sun at the first problem. The dwarf has little patience for them, so he left a good portion of the social interactions at Frerin and Dis, who is delighted to don her best gown, black velvet with bronze details. Frerin, being blessed with a perfect orientation sense, runs from house to house, asking questions and carefully collecting informations.

Thorin finds himself stuck with the paperwork; how can they transport safely the iron? Both road and rivers could be treacherous, they must stipulate an insurance, but can they afford it? He is plagued by hundred questions, but more he studied their options more he realize how badly they need a partner in business. All their hopes are now placed on the good success of his hearing at the council; Dis told him that many have assured their support, but the dwarf couldn’t help but feel the usual weight of responsibility on his shoulders.

He should revise his speech, but instead Thorin finds himself drawn to Bilbo’s gift; his cheeks getting warmer at the thought. He expected Bilbo to ask for something, and instead the hobbit gave him a gift!

 _And what a gift_ , he thought, opening the first pages.

Bilbo chose a collection of harp’s compositions, the deep black ink and the thick pages revealing the excellent quality of the materials. He is intrigued by the little drawing on the frontispiece, an acorn and a nightshade blossom, and plan to ask Bilbo about it.

He aches to play, and for once he decided to indulge himself. Thorin chose a slow ballad, and after a moment of hesitation his fingers glide on the harp’s cords; for once he is not thinking of ships, money, loan, contracts, and Erebor.

A sudden noise distracts him from his reverie; his nephew Kili barged into the room, closely followed by his brother Fili.

«Is that Master Boggins gift? Amad Dis said that he gave you something.»

«I tried to stop him, I swear.» Apologized Fili, although he looked rather amused in Thorin’s opinion.

He closed the book, showing the cover to his nephews.

«Master Baggins has been so gracious to give me a book of music. If you want, I could ask for something similar for your fiddles?»

Kili and Fili shared a furtive look.

«Or we could go out and ask Master Baggins ourselves. At the feast you kept him all for yourself. Kili il pretty curious, he even studied a map of the Shire for whole five minutes.» Fili ruffled his brother’s hair, who looked more amused than annoyed.

«The Shire lies in the West, near the Channel. It is independent from both the English and French crowns, although the hobbits are no warriors and prefer to trade within their borders,» recites Kili «I remember Balin’s lessons, I just prefer seeing things instead of read them in books and maps.»

«Well, you have a point,» said Thorin, placing his harp aside «We’ll go.»

* * *

Luckily, Kili and Fili didn’t inherited his poor orientation sense; they move with ease, and Thorin is perfectly happy to let them lead. Although, he notices after a few moments, they aren’t going to Bilbo’s house.

«Do not worry, uncle! We heard Dwalin talking with uncle Frerin about Master Bilbo’s bookshop. He spends there most of his mornings.» explained Fili, noticing his confusion.

_How is that Dwalin and Frerin know more than me?_

He tries to shake off the thought. Thorin could almost feel Dis laughing at him; how pathetic is to be jealous of his own brother and cousin?

 

When they arrive at the bookshop, it’s unnaturally silent. Thorin tries to hide is disappointment, but Fili and Kili insist to at least try to see where Bilbo is.

«Hello? Master Boggins?» calls Kili, ducking to inspect a boat.

Fili frowns «I don’t believe that the hobbit shrinked in the meantime?»

The rear door suddenly opens; Bilbo emerges wrapped in a dark green scarf, his cheeks pink from the cold.

«I knew I heard something! Please, come!»

They follow him upstairs; Bilbo leads them to an ample balcony that gives them a full view on the canal.

«I gave my employes a few hours of rest; I wanted to close the front door but I got distracted by the regatta.»

Thorin looked over the water, where at least a dozen boats float. They are long and slender, painted with different colours, bright and vivid; the prows are carved, but Thorin can’t see clearly from the distance.

«Is it a race?» ask excitedly Kili.

«Not really, they are practicing for the upcoming carnivals festivities. They start in a little more than a week.» Bilbo turned towards him. «And your hearing too! If you want, I could ask Gandalf if he knows who will assist.»

«Do not worry, I just wanted to thank you for your gift,» he hesitates «I was curious by the drawing...»

«Oh, it’s a little tribute to my parents. The flower is for my mother, Belladonna, and the acorn for the oak tree that my father planted over Bag End, their home.»

Over Bilbo shoulders, Thorin can see his nephews exchanging a look.

«An oak! What a coincidence, uncle, isn’t it?» asks Fili, smiling innocently, before turning toward Bilbo. «You should come to dinner again, Amad says you are very funny, and you could help uncle with his speech.»

«Yes, please.» pleads Kili «We are rather tired of listening to it.»

«It must be nice to feel appreciated by your family.» mumbled Thorin under his breath.

Bilbo smiled at him, eyes wrinkling at the corners.

«Are you sure I won’t be a burden?»

«No!» he answered quickly, probably too much, but Thorin doesn’t really care. «Not at all.»

 

It doesn’t surprise Thorin how easily Bilbo fits into their lives.

He says ‘their’, but they are often alone, spending entire afternoons together in his or Bilbo’s studio. They look at maps, studying different routes, but they also chat while smoking a pipe or drinking tea. He indulges Bilbo’s passion for languages and teaches him the basic of Khuzdhul grammar. In exchange, Bilbo sends him rare books, always printed with the finest materials.

In their routine Thorin felt an easiness, a sense of peace, that almost frightened him.

* * *

When finally it’s his turn to speak, Thorin is more than a little nervous.

The circular room is crowded with foreign merchants, everyone occupying their assigned seat. He clears his throat and rise to his feet, keeping his head up.

«Greetings. I am Thorin Oakenshield, and I am here to present myself and my trade. First, I must thank you for your gracious invitation,» he pauses, observing the reaction; his humility seems to be appreciated among the oldest merchants, «I decided to bring here my trade after news of the glory of Venice reached me in Anversa. I hope that I’ll be able to trade Iron from the Iron Hills... »

He starts to explain the routes, how he plans to transport the iron on the river Carnen to Wien, and from there on the Danube to the eastern lands of the Austrian crown, where it could be shipped to Venice.

Thorin can see that many nods along, already writing down notes and adding numbers. He is also very much aware of Bilbo, who is carefully listening from his seat on the dwarf’s left. Thorin felt his ears burn in a most peculiar way that has nothing to do with the stuffiness of the room.

But then someone from the back row stands up, and the spell is broken.

«I will tell you who Oakenshield really is.»

Thorin strained his eyes to see; the stranger is a tall, pale orc with a deep scar on his forehead.

«He is nothing but a fraud, a crownless king with no right to stand here. He is the son of Thrain of Erebor, who died in the foolish attempt of conquering Moria. And what of his grandfather, king Thror? His madness brought ruin and shame on his line.»

Thorin head spins with the smell of blood and smoke, the battle of Azanulbizar still vivid in his mind. _How can he know? How can he know?_

From the orc’s side, a small man with dark hair slowly starts clapping.

«Well saids, Bolg son of Azog, well said!» he shouts «This “Oakeshield” has just arrived and what he does? He lies to everyone! He should be banished, before he makes us loose our money in some mad enterprise. There is no one who can vouch for your character now!»

Thorin bite his tongue, almost tasting blood. He desperately searched for something to say, anything, but the truth was that no one would speak in his favour now.

He doesn’t expected Bilbo to raise his hand.

«I will! I will vouch for him. Many of us arrived in this city with far murkier backgrounds, and really, is it fair to judge the son for the mistakes of his grandfather?» Bilbo hand moved over his, clasping it tightly. «Since Thorin’s arrival in Venice I had no reason to doubt his honour and good faith. I will be proud to call him my partner, if he wishes so.»

Bilbo stopped and looked at him, suddenly unsure – Thorin nodded, throat closed with emotions. The hobbit turned towards the small man, an eyebrow raised.

«Unless Master Alfrid has something else to say?»

Alfrid sat back in his chair with folded arms, scowling.

Thorin is barely aware of the merchants congratulating him and clapping on his shoulders; he follows Bilbo outside almost in a trance. He marvels at how late it is, the sun is already below the horizon, and the first stars shine over them. The dwarf turned towards Bilbo, hoping that the darkness would conceal his emotions.

«Why did you vouched for me?»

Bilbo looked at him with a puzzled expression.

«Well, I meant what I said? You had your reasons to hide your painful past. Since I met you, I had no reason to doubt your honour, your loyalty to your family, and your good heart. I didn’t lie when I told that I would be proud to call you a partner...and a friend.»

Bilbo acted like this was the simplest thing in Arda, and for Thorin this made all the difference.

He doesn’t think, he just surges forward, wrapping Bilbo’s smaller form in his arms. A hundred thoughts crossed his mind; how soft Bilbo’s hair are, and how easy it is to smile and hide it in them. Bilbo then grabbed his shoulder, one of his hands sliding around his nape, embracing him.

Thorin steps back, noticing how the hobbit cheeks looked flushed, probably by the cold air.

«I must at least invite you to dinner.» He offers.

«Lovely idea! I must talk with Gandalf a moment and then we’ll leave.»

Thorin is watching Bilbo’s burgundy coat disappearing in the crowd when he feels his sleeve being pulled. A young boy, no older than ten, bows to him.

«Sorry, Master dwarf! Master Foscari sends me, he wishes to speak with you about the iron. He is waiting for you over there.» He points an alley nearby, just after a small bridge.

Thorin thanked the boy, who bowed and scurried away.

 _It will be the matter of a moment_ , he thinks, _Bilbo still hasn’t returned, and Foscari is one of the most important families in Venice._

 

Thorin crossed the bridge; the alley is rather dark and narrow, and the dwarf walked briskly, checking every shadows.

He is sorely disappointed when he finds himself alone in a small square. He slowly walks through it, but there is no one, not even a boat in the canal.

There is no moon that night, and in hindsight it would have been impossible for him to see the blow coming. He is aware of a searing pain over his nape, and the next moment his brow slams hard against the paved flooring; blood trickles in his eyes, he tries to wipe it but the ground seems to spin under him, tilting toward the canal.

His body sink in the cold water with barely a sound.


End file.
